Denial
by silverthorned
Summary: Spoiler "Grave." Absence cannot heal all wounds.


Take a trip back with me to when we didn't know what would  
happen before season seven.  
  
*  
  
Title: Denial  
Author: silverthorned  
Rating: G  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, creator.  
Category: Buffy/Spike  
Summary: Spoiler "Grave." Absence cannot heal all wounds.  
  
*  
  
He's been gone for so long and I don't know where he is.  
  
I'm beginning to think he will never come back. I always thought  
he would stay, that he would never leave. I drove him away, with  
my hate, and I shouldn't care, but I do.  
  
Each day, I think of him, of what he'd done, the fury and the  
despair written so plainly on his face, and what I should have  
found the grace to say. Yet my anger and betrayal left me with no  
choice.  
  
There is a small voice that haunts me now, and I recognize it as  
my own. It says I should stop thinking of where he is, what he  
is doing, if he's dead. It screams I should not forgive. When  
it shouts, I clobber it down, with the memory of Willow's  
transgressions. Forgiveness can't be just for friends.  
  
I need to know where he is, so I start searching, asking  
questions. If he's dead, someone will know. There is no news,  
and all the demons and vampires are starting to grow suspicious.  
Clem...Clem is hiding something from me, I know he is, and I can't  
talk it out of him. I won't beat it out of him, he's too  
pathetic for that and I owe him a favor.  
  
Three months, alone, coping with the pain and coming to the  
realization that maybe, just maybe I miss him. I miss him too  
badly, too severely, and I'm not sure I want to examine what that  
means just yet. The little voice tells me, "He's not coming back."  
  
I beat it down again, this time with the memory of what I saw in  
his eyes every time he told me he loved me. It shuts up pretty  
quickly.  
  
I patrol, sometimes with my friends, even Dawn. I'm so proud of  
her and her skills are amazing. Saved my skin a few times, with  
her stake. I listen sometimes to the nasties talk. They say  
there are two slayers now, and I chuckle, and don't correct the  
error. I told Dawn and she laughed and gave me a hug. Things  
are so much better now.  
  
Almost. Willow. Anya and Xander. They have their sorrows. All  
I can do is offer my love and strength. They take it and I give  
it, freely.  
  
Tonight, I make the crypt the last stop on my patrol. I don't go  
in. I'm not in the mood to chat with Clem, chatty as he can be.  
No, I'm there for the memories, memories I torture myself with.  
There are some that make me happy, there are many that make me  
angry, there are a few that make me cry.  
  
So I sit on the ground, my back against the crypt's outside wall,  
tears on my face. I have shed too many tears over someone who  
shouldn't deserve them.  
  
I hear a sliding click of metal and then the acrid smell of  
cigarette smoke. I look up, hoping against hope. Then his voice  
comes, dark as bittersweet chocolate.  
  
"Fancy a dance, Slayer?"  
  
I stand up, a hand behind me to steady me, and my voice sounds  
like a straw broom's whisper against a floor.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
He steps out of the shadows, the glow of his cigarette flaring  
bright orange as he drags on it. He tosses it down, and crushes  
it with his foot.  
  
He looks up at me and gives me the strangest smile I have ever  
seen, so sad and loving and lost, and I can sense there's  
something wrong, even before he says, "Sorry, Buffy, Spike's long  
gone."  
  
He looks down, and I catch a glimpse of the gentle man I saw so  
rarely, the one I always knew was William. When he looks up  
again, that man is gone. Instead, his face is blank, so devoid  
of expression I back away. He looks dangerous this way.  
  
He steps forward, taking my hand in his, holding it loosely.  
  
"You owe me a dance, Slayer."  
  
I swallow and ask, "What type?"  
  
When he speaks, his voice drops to a whisper. The words are  
challenging and an echo of a time when I considered him my enemy,  
but the way he says them lack the same conviction. They sound  
tired, defeated, something he has never been.  
  
"The endless one," he says. "Come on, Buffy. Give it me good."  
  
I'm confused. "You want to fight?"  
  
Just a short nod from him in assent.  
  
He's the first to throw a punch and it's so easy to fall into  
familiar patterns, but I have no heart for this and when I pivot,  
delivering a kick to his head that knocks him down, I realize he  
does not either.  
  
He lies there, stunned, his eyes wide, and for the first time I  
see the tell-tale glitter of tears, tears that haven't fallen  
yet. I straddle him quickly, and the stake slips into my hands  
with the ease of years. He closes his eyes, waiting.  
  
He doesn't know. He doesn't know I can't, won't do it. I put the  
stake away and stand up.  
  
The time stretches tight until his eyes open, the expectation of  
death so strong in them, they seem empty. My God, he has a death  
wish.  
  
Before I can process this he growls, and pulls me down again. Our  
noses almost touch, our faces are so close, and the look in his  
eyes has changed to angry accusation.  
  
He snarls, "You deserved to kill me, Slayer. Why stop?"  
  
I breathe deeply and say softly, "I forgave you."  
  
He pushes me away, and turns his back on me. His shoulders start  
to shake and I realize he is weeping. I crawl to him, and place  
my fingers on his shoulder. He jerks away from me and somehow he  
buries the tears, but he still remains turned away from me,  
bowed, his hands hanging loose over his knees.  
  
He says, "You're not a priest to give me absolution."  
  
I'm afraid of touching him again. I know he would bolt if I did.  
Instead, I sit beside him and even still I can feel when he  
shrinks away from me.  
  
"I thought you'd never come back." I look at him and see that he  
has his eyes closed. The tracks of his tears shine softly in the  
moonlight. The expression on his face reminds me of when I broke  
our relationship, broke him. My fault, all my fault.  
  
He opens his eyes and stares down at the ground.  
  
"I wouldn't have, you know. Not if I'd known you wouldn't do your  
job."  
  
I ask, still quietly, "What happened, Spike?"  
  
A long, long, long silence.  
  
"Got my bleedin' soul back."  
  
I should be surprised. I should, but I'm not. I ask, "When?"  
  
"Three months ago."  
  
"Where have you been?"  
  
His voice no longer has any strength and I have to strain to hear  
him.  
  
"Lost."  
  
There it is, the pang that pierces somewhere near my heart and I  
struggle with tears that threaten to spill over again. Just one  
word and I realize I don't know who he is. He looks like Spike,  
talks like Spike, but it's not Spike in there anymore. I don't  
know this man. Just one word and I know he has well and truly  
changed.  
  
I say, "William," and he looks up at me, something close to  
gratitude surfacing, but it's quickly gone, buried underneath the  
same mask.  
  
I sigh and begin again, "William, will you, what are you going to  
do now?"  
  
"I came back to settle accounts with you. I'm done."  
  
He stands up and I look up at him.  
  
"You're leaving, aren't you?"  
  
"What did you expect, me to declare undying love and devotion,  
like that poofter Angel? I may have a soul, but--"  
  
I stand up, and I know my body language is angry, but I'm really  
feeling despair.  
  
I bite off the words, trying to keep back tears, "But what,  
Spike?"  
  
He looks me in the eyes, holding my gaze for the first time this  
long, endless night. What I see there steals my hope, because  
what I see is something I know for a lie.  
  
He says, "I don't think I can love you."  
  
Though he doesn't say it, the word echoes in the silent air  
around us.  
  
Anymore. I can't love you anymore. Which means that we have  
destroyed something precious, both of us, so blind to the truth.  
  
The small voice meanly whines, "Told you so." I have no defenses  
against it, no weapons that can kill it once for all.  
  
He turns to go and walks away from me, the shadows hugging his  
form. It's too late when I finally admit the truth.  
  
"Just when I thought I could."  
  
End. 


End file.
